


Cat's Cradle

by neutralize



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters: Sun & Moon | Pokemon Sun & Moon Versions
Genre: Blood and Violence, Canon Compliant, Gen, Inappropriate Humor, Origin Story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-20
Updated: 2018-01-20
Packaged: 2019-03-07 07:02:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13429404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neutralize/pseuds/neutralize
Summary: Guzma tries to say something, but all that comes from his mouth is a squeaky gurgle. He kicks at Nanu, something he effortlessly avoids. Nanu is trying to work out what, exactly, he’s seeing here when he remembers the conversation he had with his former boss, as well as his first interaction with Plumeria, and the cats. It doesn't take him long to connect the dots, but the arriving conclusion is so laughably stupid, he's compelled to ask Guzma, if only to confirm that, yes, it's the truth and not Nanu finally losing it.“Are you... allergic to cats?”“Go to hell,” Guzma half snarls, half chokes.The response is better than anything Nanu could have asked for, but he's not about to tell Guzma that.Nanu is occasionally a bad cop more than a good one; Guzma has some unsavory secrets he'd rather not let loose; and Nanu's meowths are always hungry.





	Cat's Cradle

**Author's Note:**

> I've been sitting on this fic for almost a year now and I'm ready to fling it into the wild, where it can stop leering at me on Google Docs. I never understood why, even though he has the type advantage and the manpower, Guzma/Team Skull in general seemed to steer clear of Nanu in SuMo canon*, so... an explanation and origin fic of sorts. Just try to enjoy it for what it is, and don't think too deeply into it?
> 
> Additional warnings for mild animal abuse, mentions of blood, vaguely implied murder, probable medical inaccuracy and black humor.
> 
> *- I (obviously) wrote this before USUM dropped and I haven't gotten that far into it, because real life happened, so if there's anything contradictory in this... whatever. Again, take this fic for what it is.
> 
> (Thank you [Ciry](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Skylark) for giving this a quick beta!)

Nanu's persian disappears the first night they arrive in Po Town. Ordinarily he wouldn't bother to look for her, because she was a smart cat, except he's neck deep in Skull territory and can't afford to be a team member down. The flashlight's dim light barely cuts through the drizzle, and he wishes he had more foresight in packing just sandals as his footwear.  
  
It doesn't take Nanu long to track her down, and when he does, he wishes he hadn't. She's preoccupied with a gumshoos, doing things more appropriate to watch in a nature documentary than real life. He's about to break the pair up when a flash of black and blue darts out from an adjacent bush.  
  
“Beat it, old man, I saw them first!” the kid yells, brandishing two ultra balls. “Once they're done doing their thing, I'm - ”  
  
Nanu's foot makes contact with the gumshoos, and his hand clamps on the grunt's shoulder. “You do realize,” he says indifferently, over the howls of the gumshoos, “curfew kicked in about forty five minutes ago.”  
  
He spares a glance at the kid, whose eyes are flitting over the badge conspicuously and looks like he's one scare away from either crying or wetting himself. Nanu's hand hasn't lifted for a full second when the kid scrambles in the opposite direction. It's always nice when he doesn't have to say or do much else to get his point across.  
  
Three days later, Persian surprises her owner with a clutch of eggs. “You're kidding me,” he mutters, but all she does is rub against his legs, purring.  
  
\--  
  
The attacks on the precinct are now a daily thing. Honestly, it’s a stretch calling them that: “vaguely threatening jeers” and “occasional ding dong ditchings” are better descriptors, but for some reason, it's just grunts who seem to be doing their own thing, despite the fact he’s been here for two weeks now.  
  
Nanu carefully sifts through the intel again, to confirm he isn't missing something. The boss of this fledgling gang is some punk named Guzma: early twenties, uses bug-types, and general piece of crap whose hive is nestled here - run-of-the-mill riffraff Nanu is used to seeing. The beatdowns, on the other hand, are a problem - something, according to the reports Nanu has received, Guzma has a dangerously efficient working knowledge of, starting at the tender age of sixteen, with his father being at the short end of a golf club. It's enough of a problem that the Melemele and Akala forces won't go after the guy anymore and Nanu's former boss, a grizzled veteran from Interpol's special ops unit, had to beg him to consider taking on the special task. _You can't miss him; kid's got a nose like a probopass, it's busted up so bad_ , he had said. _Bit of a moron, but a dangerous one. Nip it in the bud, while you can_.  
  
He frowns, thinking of the memory. In all truthfulness, he doesn't see _why_ Guzma hasn't been caught yet: there are reports of the kid taking on police by himself, and with disturbingly good outcomes too, if the black eyes and busted jaws of some of the Melemele officers were any testament to that. Self-perseverance is not this kid's thing, not by a long shot, and someone, somewhere, could have set up a raid at any point and netted him then. There's the matter of his specialty, too, which... what kind of self-respecting ganglord has cutesy pokemon like masquerain as part of their team, anyway? As far as Nanu is concerned, someone could have also torched him mid-battle and watched the bugs burn into husks with ease. Nanu isn't sure whether laziness or incompetence is to blame but either way, it’s now his problem to solve. A pang of irritation gnaws at him; he left Interpol to lessen his workload, not increase it.  
  
A pair of sharp claws digging into his leg snaps him out of his thoughts; Nanu flicks the meowth, an especially persistent female not unlike her mother, in the face. Unfazed, she stares at the jar of beans on his desk with obvious hunger. “Cripes, I already fed you cats twice today,” he mutters. “Go play or something, I'm trying to work here.”  
  
Just then, harsh raps outside the front door echo in the air. The meowths, of course, hiss and puff up, but it's Persian who catches Nanu's attention, when her own fur stands on end.  
  
“We know you're in there, old man!” a voice shouts. The voice is female, a teen, if he has to wager a guess. Persian follows him, tail twitching, and Nanu cracks the door open. He's wary of Team Skull, yes, but their antics haven't amounted to anything he can technically cite them for, and given that his first real encounter with a Skull crony was lackluster at best, he doesn't have a real reason to be afraid, either.  
  
Three girls are standing outside; two of them are clones of each other in matching get-ups, but the third one stands a head taller than the others, hair pulled into colorful pigtails. She has one of Persian's kits by the scruff, who bats at her hair uselessly.  
  
Nanu looks at the meowth, then the tall girl. “You know, you can keep him, if you want,” he says, “because there's…” He pauses; how many were there again? Right. “Six more of them, where he came from. Not pulling your leg. Get them out of my hair.”  
  
The two grunts look a weird mix between confused and hopeful, but their expressions twist into sneers when the tall girl glares at them. “We're a gang, not a charity cause. We can get our own pokemon, without your help,” she drawls, flinging the meowth towards Nanu. “Besides, 'cute and furry' isn't our thing here around Skull.”  
  
Nanu watches the meowth skitter back to his littermates. “Well, I'm just a cop, but... that seems counterproductive of you,” he replies. “Isn't your whole thing stealing other people's pokemon, or something like that? Why turn down a free pokemon, and why exclude certain kinds, especially when you're trying to maximize your profit here? You steal them to sell them, right?”  
  
When the ensuing silence becomes unbearable, one of the grunts asks, “He's got a point, Plumeria. Why _doesn't_ Guzma like - ”  
  
“Are you questioning your boss' orders, in front of his admin?” the Plumeria girl interrupts her; the grunt quickly shakes her head. “Hmmph. That's what I thought.” She turns to Nanu, and continues, “If we wanted cat hair all over the place, we would have lifted that persian of yours way back when you first got here.”  
  
“I sincerely doubt that,” Nanu deadpans. “Did that kid get home alright, by the way?” he tacks on, as an afterthought.  
  
“Can it, you geezer,” Plumeria snarls, eyes flashing. “Consider this a generous gift, from us to you. We're going to warn you once. Stay out of our way, and we'll steer clear of yours, got it?”  
  
“You're an odd bunch,” Nanu says, after a measured silence. Rocket is organized crime. Magma and Aqua are organized crimes. Even _Plasma_ , as much of a mess as it is, is organized crime. But Skull goes against every trademark characteristic of organized crime, save for stealing pokemon for gain. Even then, it's debatable if they follow that critical point. “But answer one thing for me. About your boss, Guzma.” The grunts eye Plumeria nervously, whose expression has shifted as if she's considering hearing him out.  
  
“Are you really sure he doesn't want a meowth? Seriously, they're dumb, but - ”  
  
“ _No_ ,” Plumeria yells. Nanu cracks a grin at the nerve his question struck with her. As if she had expected him to ask something serious. “You're an idiot if you think Guzma wants to replace his team with a bunch of dummy cats. Let's go,” she snaps at the grunts before stomping off. The girls scuttle behind her, shooting unsure glances at Nanu.  
  
“If he changes his mind, tell him to come see me. We have much to discuss, anyway,” Nanu calls out to the trio, now walking away even faster.  
  
\--  
  
His former boss is a hundred kilometers away, but Nanu doesn’t need to see him in person to know that he’s scowling into the phone. “Nothing still?”  
  
“Not really, no. All I've been seeing are grunts, and occasionally their admin, Plumeria. But not Guzma himself, and I've had Sableye stake out their headquarters twice already,” Nanu tells him, thumbing through another file. “Either I'm losing my mind and sight, he's good at sneaking around, or he's not here on Ula'ula. And nothing new on your end, right?”  
  
“We weren't kidding when we said he's a slippery sunnuva bitch,” the other man answers petulantly. “And nope, we're dry - tried contacting his parents again, and they still can't seem to come to a consensus whether to help us or not.”  
  
“You don't say.”  
  
“Yeah, Mom's convinced her kid is some misunderstood, darling angel, even though her husband sleeps with golf clubs under his pillow. I guess he initially wanted to press charges, but she threatened divorce if he went through with it.” A beat, then: “Family's pretty screwy, if you ask me. The only way we're getting anything is through the hospital in Hau'oli.”  
  
“Hospital?”  
  
"We had to pull a few strings, but yeah, we were able to secure permission to access some files  - and before you say anything, it's not illegal to do that, if it's for police reports. I checked. You can thank Kanto and Johto for setting the precedent.”  
  
Nanu thinks of the unintended souvenir left from Rocket’s shenanigans; he doesn’t miss those days. Still, it gives him pause. “Can't be much there, I would imagine. The only thing that sticks out would be when the dad was first admitted, right?”  
  
“That's what we initially thought, too. We were grasping at straws here - technically, we still are, but - ” A crackle through the phone skews the sound, before it reverts back to normal. “ - and it turns out, the hospital knows them pretty well. Familiar faces, so to speak.”  
  
“How so?”  
  
“Guess the kid was a scrapper from early on, so he was seen a lot. Bloody noses, sprained wrists, that kind of crap. Rash and hives here and there. I guess they thought something was fishy at home, but it never got looked into. Other than that... we got nothing.”  
  
“Yeah well, they probably should have looked into that more, so it wouldn't have escalated to this magnitude. But listen, I'm going to let you go here,” Nanu says after a brief silence. “I'll let you know if I come across anything else. Thanks for everything you’ve done so far.”  
  
“Hardly. For all the things you did for Interpol, it's the least I could do.” The man on the other end sounds wistful, but, to Nanu's relief, doesn't elaborate any further. “Anyway. Keep in touch, Nanu. Let me know if you need anything else from me.”  
  
Nanu hangs up, putting away the files with care. But as he goes to stand up, his hip bumps the edge of his desk and sends the pile sliding to the floor. Several kits pounce on the papers, and Nanu tries to bat them away, to no avail.  
  
“Stop that,” he grumbles. He reaches for the jar of beans on his desk to rattle it and four sets of eyes bore into him. Without breaking his own gaze, he unlatches the lid to grab a rainbow bean, and moves it slowly in the air. As if on cue, their eyes rove the path of his hand with unblinking intensity; when he does throw it, they scatter like a shot towards the bean's trajectory.  
  
Nanu watches them squabble and snarl among each other with tepid interest, before tossing more out to placate everyone. He scoops a handful of beans from the jar to place into a secret compartment of his gun’s holster, while they’re occupied - it would be a matter of time before they were clawing at him again, and there’s never an instance where he doesn’t carry his gun, so he might as well be prepared. He stoops down to collect his files, deciding he's too old for this kind of crap.  
  
\--  
  
The Shady House is eerily quiet when Nanu and his team sneak in two nights later. The other times he's done preliminary scans, it wasn't exactly crawling with grunts, but tonight there's not a soul around. Either Guzma is overly confident in the impregnability of the place, or Nanu is waltzing straight into a trap. But as he and his krokorok scale the side of the mansion, a third option - he got one hell of a lucky break - seems to be more feasible.  
  
“Keep your mitts off the shiny things for now,” he tells his sableye, pointing to the window a meter away. It doesn't take her long to pick the hinges and slip inside to scout the mansion. As he watches her disappear into the dark, his neck tightens. He's been a weathered veteran for decades now, a timespan he realizes with sourness, but not even experience can completely soothe his nerves. Tonight is no exception, and perhaps more dangerous than usual: his preferred method of busting any criminal is to deliberate something easy but effective, but Guzma's unpredictability and apparent flightiness have forced him to hit hard and fast at the first available opportunity. He wants to get this done and over with by himself but he also hopes Akala and Melemele's forces won't wuss out again, if it comes down to it. When Sableye pops her head out and shrugs, the tension in his shoulders slightly dissipates.  
  
The smell of fermenting alcohol and mold assault Nanu's senses as he roams the corridors. He's heard stories about the mansion and how it's one of several in Alola that had belonged to some hotshot software engineer way out in Saffron City... had, at least. Were the guy still alive, surely he'd despair at its current decrepit state and new tenants. (No one at Melemele HQ could say for certain whether the man's passing was Guzma's doing, but the police chief had kept saying, exasperated, " _Golf clubs_ ," whenever someone brought up a doubt. What special bond Guzma had with golf clubs, Nanu didn't want to know.)  
  
The Buginium Z is a stark contrast to the general condition of the mansion, when he stumbles into the master room. Sableye squeals and launches herself into the gleaming pile, purring contentedly. Nanu had heard rumors that Guzma was nabbing every bit of the crystal he could get his hands on, but, as he stares at the mound, he hadn't realized it was _this_ much.  
  
“Cripes,” he whispers, but as he begins to number crunch a pricetag - if it's an integer he can come up with on the fly - a thud, followed by a deafening and familiar yowl reaches his ears. With quiet haste he calls Sableye back into her ball and slips into the shadows of the hallway.  
  
The view of the foyer from upstairs is large enough to let Nanu observe without sacrificing secrecy. There are grunts, a trio this time, who form a small circle in the foyer's center. They draw in close, before grey forms spring out from the center. Nanu's stomach drops to his feet.  
  
“For the last time,” says a bawdy voice, “Boss ain't gonna care we skipped out in Tapu - cuz it wasn't like we weren't doing nothing, right? I can't believe that stupid cop left his joint unlocked. The hell was he thinking, anyway?”  
  
“But Guzma said - ”  
  
“But nothing, my butt. We got him free pokemon. Free!”  
  
“Yeah, G! These stupid meowth, you know how much they'll sell in Kanto? Tons.” One grunt snatches a kit by the tail, and cackles as it screams. Nanu feels Persian's pokeball rattle ominously against his hip, and he clamps a hand around it, hoping it keeps her in for now.  
  
“See, dumb as a box of slowpokes.” The same grunt kicks another meowth; the others, beginning to realize something is wrong, start to back away, hissing. “The boss and the others should be back any minute, so - ”  
  
“So y'all can explain why you skipped out on a meeting I said everyone had to attend,” a voice cuts through the dark, quiet but definitely venomous. A shadow spreads over the grunts, getting smaller until Guzma’s frame, as well as Plumeria, is visible in Nanu's line of sight. It's the first time Nanu has seen Guzma in the flesh, and even though he can only see his back, the rigidity of his shoulders and the way his fists are clenched at his sides suggests nothing good is about to happen.  
  
The first grunt's reply is barely above a mumble, devoid of its earlier, boisterous confidence. “B - but Boss, we got something better instead! We - ”  
  
Guzma's hand closes around the kid's throat in a blink, and the grunt spasms helplessly in his grasp, spluttering for air. Nanu stays frozen in place, except for his hand squeezing Persian's shaking pokeball - this is bad, yes, but they still have the advantage of surprise. He reaches for his holster, just in case, and hears something faintly rattle from inside when his fingers brush against it.

  
The idea that comes into his head is, admittedly, not his smartest one. At the same time, it's painfully obvious _smart_ has not done a whole hell of a lot, as far as catching Guzma goes.  
  
He chucks the first bean he grabs as hard as he can and it sails through the air, landing in front of Guzma. He immediately drops the kid, who falls to the floor wheezing, and stares. The meowths stare, too.  
  
“What the fuck,” Guzma whispers, head turning towards the top of the stairs.  
  
Nanu pulls out another bean - a rainbow one - momentarily watching it gleam in the dark, before he tosses it. This time, it lands in Guzma's hair.  
  
There's a split second of stillness, before all seven of the meowths lunge towards Guzma. Nanu bolts for the stairs, tossing out his team to the action. Sableye and Krokorok tumble down the stairs, knocking into Plumeria and Guzma. Persian's footing is much better, and she uses the stairs as a springboard to launch herself towards the grunts, claws and fangs bared.  
  
By now, more grunts are entering the Shady House. “Take care of the girl and fend off anyone else,” Nanu shouts to Sableye and Krokorok, “and Persian, back to me when you're done with them!” Krokorok takes Plumeria's hair into his jaws, dragging her away over the sound of her shrill screams, while Sableye pelts shadowy balls of haze towards the blindsided Skull grunts. Nanu charges for Guzma, who's managed to sit up but still has three of the meowths clawing at him, and wrestles him back down. Guzma's arm swings, fist connecting with the left side of Nanu's face; he reels away, pain shooting up his temple. Then Nanu notices Guzma's other arm blindly feeling around for something in his pocket, before pulling out an ultra ball. Nanu lunges again, but Persian beats him to the punch, swatting the ball out of his hand. The ultra ball shoots across the room and hits the wall but thankfully, the release fails to unlatch. _That_ would have really screwed Nanu over.  
  
Nanu makes for Guzma again, this time grabbing a fistful of white hair and slamming him down, face first. Guzma squirms beneath him, bellowing, and Nanu pins a knee between Guzma’s shoulderblades to fix him in place. He fumbles for his holster with his free hand, placing it against Guzma's temple with a click. The click halts Guzma's residual movement in an instant. Much better. The only sound emanating through the air is their harsh breathing, with Guzma's panting sounding unusually forced. Nanu feels something warm slide down from his nostrils, before seeing bright, crimson droplets splatter into Guzma's hair.  
  
He licks his lips, tasting the metallic bite of blood. “Two pieces of advice, if I may,” Nanu says after he's caught enough breath to speak. “One, having meetings away from your headquarters is not smart, especially if there's no one to serve as lookout. Also, headcounts are a good thing to do.” Guzma tries to buck Nanu off, letting loose a string of foul words, but Nanu balls his fist tighter in his hair, which gets him to stop. Guzma's breathing sounds increasingly labored and Nanu's eyes wander to his neck, which is bright red and blotchy.  
  
Nanu eases up his grip on Guzma's scalp; he thrashes around yet again, and this time, Nanu hops off him with a wobble. But Guzma doesn't try to do anything else - with the way he attempts to prop himself up but loses balance, he can’t. Nanu steps toward him, pushing Guzma flat on his back with a nudge. His face is covered with what Nanu guesses are supposed to be scratches, but are bloody, angry-looking scarlet welts instead. One of his eyes is starting to swell shut.  
  
Guzma tries to say something, but all that comes from his mouth is a squeaky gurgle. He kicks at Nanu, something he effortlessly avoids. Nanu is trying to work out what, exactly, he’s seeing here when he remembers the conversation he had with his former boss, as well as his first interaction with Plumeria, and the cats. It doesn't take him long to connect the dots, but the arriving conclusion is so laughably stupid, he's compelled to ask Guzma, if only to confirm that, yes, it's the truth and not Nanu finally losing it.  
  
“Are you... allergic to cats?”  
  
“Go to hell,” Guzma half snarls, half chokes.  
  
The response is better than anything Nanu could have asked for, but he's not about to tell Guzma that.  
  
“Hey now. That's not nice to say.” Nanu crouches down, and Guzma gives him as venomous as a look can manage with one halfway open, bloodshot eye. “But seriously, are you going to be okay, or do I have to take you to a hospital?”  
  
The gesture, which Nanu had sort of meant, because it's not like he has a personal vendetta against Guzma anyway, is not appreciated; the latter swings at him, a half-hearted shrug compared to minutes before. “Kid. Help me out here. You at least have a nebulizer or something on you, right? I don't want to be responsible for you dying. That's a lot of paperwork I have to fill out.”  
  
“If anyone's gonna kick it, it'll be you,” Guzma wheezes, and he finally stumbles to his feet. His one eye is completely swollen shut, and the other is starting to close in on itself. His once-pale face is now a grotesque, red-flushed disaster. Beads of sweat are pooling at his messy hairline. He steps towards Nanu with a shaky fist - and this time, on a hunch, Nanu lets the scruff of his shirt collar ball up in Guzma's grasp. He lets his body sag under Guzma's pull, keeping his body language carefully neutral, aside from a casual tilt of his head.  
  
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Nanu asks. “You try anything stupid, and the cameras will catch it. You'll spend the rest of your days behind bars - is that really what you want?”  
  
The lie has the exact effect Nanu is hoping for. Guzma freezes. “What cameras,” he rasps.  
  
Nanu keeps his tone conversational, as if he’s discussing something as mundane as the weather. “You don't think I haven't bugged this place already? How else did I know to come on a night you and your gang would be gone?”  
  
“You're bluffing,” Guzma breathes. But there’s a momentary catch that betrays uncertainty in the bravado, and that’s all Nanu needs to keep needling him.  
  
“Are you really in a position to find out? Your body is trying to eat you alive, you're not going to do much, if anything.” Nanu pauses to shrug nonchalantly. “I mean, your gang probably could do something to me, if my team hasn't made short work of them already... but that's not really dignified. Being rescued by your henchmen, and all.”  
  
Guzma’s posture slackens, but Nanu keeps himself in the other’s man loosening grasp, waiting. Nanu twitches a signal with his finger and, on cue, Persian rubs herself against Guzma’s legs. Guzma’s breath catches, reedy, and when Nanu sees his open eye dart to the cat, he whips his fist in the center of Guzma’s face.

Guzma topples. This time, he doesn’t try to get back up.  
  
Nanu watches Guzma's chest rise and fall, subtle but still there. His breathing is the same hitched whistling as before, but it's steady and Nanu doesn't think he's in any immediate danger of asphyxiating. Guzma's face, on the other hand, is now a shadow of the gaunt photos Nanu has seen in his files, a bloated, ugly mockery with red and purple slowly spreading through it.  
  
Curious mewls snap him back to the moment; two of the meowths are weaving themselves in between his legs, while the others are nuzzling against Persian. Nanu sighs, and cracks his neck. He really needs to do something about these stupid cats.  
  
The entrance of Shady House is an unmitigated disaster. It’s not that Nanu expects anything less, given the pandemonium within the last half hour, but even he's caught off guard by how many sprawled bodies there are, some of them groaning, others twitching. When he sees Krokorok and Sableye flounce toward him, he frowns. He knows he's trained his team well, but this time, he wonders if he trained them maybe _too_ well. “Not that I don't trust you, but... no one's seriously injured or worse, right? Because I really can't have that getting back to HQ, you know.”  
  
From behind them a loud groan punctures the air. Nanu spares a look at the offending party: a grunt who's managed to stumble to his feet, wild-eyed, defiant, and brandishing... two ultra balls. This kid again.

  
“I'm gonna,” the grunt begins, the same time Nanu fires a shot right past the kid's temple. He watches the bullet careen several meters, shattering the stained glass of the antique window, before giving the kid a poignant look.

“I’m pretty sure we had a conversation about curfew already,” Nanu says, not bothering to conceal the irritation in his voice. “Seriously, do it again and see what happens.” Then he walks away in the wake of the grunt’s hysterical babbling.  
  
\--  
  
When Tapu Bulu finds him a week later, Nanu rolls his eyes so hard, it's a miracle they don't fall out of their sockets.  
  
“Oh, for the love of - listen, I'm flattered, but I'm not interested,” Nanu tells the guardian deity. He knows nothing he says is going to change how this encounter ends, but it's not going to be out of lack of trying. “I almost beat the snot out of a mob boss, I hardly think that's decent grounds for kahuna material.”  
  
To its credit, Tapu Bulu looks as enthused as Nanu feels. He angles for a different approach: “Instead of being a kahuna, I could give you a couple sacrifices for your shrine or whatever. Really nice cats. Won't even know what hit them.”  
  
Tapu Bulu levels with him sternly, as if to say, _don't push your luck._  
  
“I'm kidding, I'm kidding. Fine, whatever. Cripes. I guess I can be the kahuna. But at least help me out with this,” he says, vaguely gesturing towards Po Town. “I don't know if I can manage them by myself for much longer.” Tapu Bulu twitches its tail lazily, bell chiming, and the ground shivers, before bursting with thick, green vines, covered with rainbow beans.  
  
He stares at the flora, before eyeing Tapu Bulu. “You'll provide the beans, I'll throw them at Guzma again, and the meowths can attack him. Got it,” he deadpans.  
  
He barely misses the vine as it whips past his ear.  
  
“Look, if you're going to force me into being kahuna, at least allow me to have a little bit of fun,” Nanu gripes, eyeing the thrashing vine warily. “I wasn't trying to be disrespectful. If I was, I'd still be trying to weasel out of being kahuna.” Tapu Bulu seems to consider his statement with an air of irritation, but ultimately it chimes the bell on its tail. The sound is more soothing, and Nanu’s eyes droop before he can stop himself. He doesn't know how long it goes on for, but when he realizes the sound has ceased and opens his eyes again, Tapu Bulu is gone.  
  
When Nanu looks down, and sees gracideas neatly clustered alongside the vines at his feet, the smile crosses his lips faster than he can stifle it.  
  
\--  
  
\--  
  
Nanu is holding the phone several centimeters away from his ear, but still winces when his former boss' voice cuts through the air. “You _had_ him, and you didn't arrest him? Nanu, what in the hell were you thinking?”  
  
“Look,” Nanu replies, stopping to cradle the phone in his neck so he can pull the weeds plaguing the outside of the precinct with gusto, “I don't think Guzma is going to be a problem anymore. Besides, I'm Ula'ula's kahuna now, so it's not like I'm going any time soon.”  
  
“You're the - wh - how - okay, you know what, forget it, I'll save it for another time,” is the other man’s weary splutter. “If you think he won't be doing anything else, then I'll take your word for it. As long as he stays on Ula'ula, though.”  
  
Out of the corner of his eye he sees something slink past him several meters away; he pauses to look up, and meets Plumeria's wide-eyed and Guzma's black-and-blue stare. For a moment, the three of them are frozen into place.  
  
That won't do - after all, he's going to be staying on Ula'ula Island for the rest of the foreseeable future, and what kind of message is he sending, if he can't even acknowledge his new neighbors? Nanu gives them a friendly wave, accompanied with the most genial smile he can scrounge up.  
  
Guzma and Plumeria turn their heads and stalk away, but their timing is too slow to conceal the absolute panic that crosses their faces. It's always nice when he doesn't have to say or do much else to get his point across.  
  
“No,” says Nanu, sounding more saccharine than he has in a long time, “I don't think he’ll be going anywhere.”


End file.
